Warnings: Crossdressing?

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys

Authoress Note: Wrote this tiny thing on tumblr and decided to post it. I love the thought of Steve crossdressing.

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Steve couldn't help that little shiver of excitement he felt when Bucky helped him lace up the back of the corset he had on, designed to give him the illusion of having curves. It settled snugly underneath his modest brassier which Bucky had ingeniously thought to put old shoulder pads into from a dame's blouse they found to give him a little something, but not too much. Besides, Steve thought he would look rather silly with a large bosom like those men at that comedy club Bucky had once dragged him to who had danced around the stage with satirical daintiness and full mustaches and had the audience in tears of laughter.

Steve didn't want to be thought of as a joke or be laughed at, though. He just liked looking pretty. There wasn't any explaining it, but he was glad that Bucky put up with it and at least didn't laugh at him. In fact, Bucky's dark eyes fixated on him made him want to hurry up, so he slid up a pair of panties next.

They were loose fitting, but still brushed across him in an enticing way and Steve swore he saw Bucky lick his lips out of the corner of their little bedroom mirror. It made his cheeks darken, but he ignored it and got to the next bit: his favorite part.

Bucky wasn't even hiding his stare now as Steve slowly rolled the pair of nylons up his feet. Steve loved the feeling of the smooth material embracing his legs and he had never been more grateful at his body hating to grow hair anywhere but on his head. When the stockings reached the top of his thighs, he attached the suspender clasps to the hem of his underwear and the edge of the nylons. The metal felt cool against his skin.

When he reached for the slip, Bucky said,

"Wait. Leave it off-for me? Just for tonight," he swallowed and even though he was behind Steve, Steve could picture the flush on his friend's face.

"Be an immodest girl that makes all the fellers stare when she walks by."

Steve honestly couldn't see himself being that, but he sighed, "Alright," and left the slip where it was.

Next was the dress, which had smooth lines and came down past Steve's knees. It was probably a little tighter than what Steve might have worn if he was a girl, but he didn't have curves for the dress to hug, so he figured it was fair game. Then he put on a matching cardigan, both it and the dress being a gray-blue that Bucky said brought out his eyes.

Then came Steve's second favorite part: the makeup. It took a few tries to get it right the first time, but he tackled the task with an artist's vision in mind. He had a little powder that he had applied all over to make his face evenly pale that he put on first, before all of this to not get any on his clothes. He first used a bit of eyeliner to make his eyes look larger than they actually were. It was bold, bolder than probably the saucier girls would even wear, but Steve was alright with it at the moment. Then he a applied some rouge along his cheek bones to emphasize them and ran red lipstick around his lips, coloring them wine red and pressed his lips inward to make sure it was applied evenly.

Bucky made a pained noise behind him, "I'll never understand how you know how to do that."

Steve shrugged, "I've watched a lot of dames do it. They don't tend to notice I'm there."

"Well if you looked like that, they'd notice, 'cause they'd all be jealous."

Steve rolled his eyes and carefully put on one of the final touches: a sandy blonde wig that he had guiltily "borrowed" from the theater department at his school. It was curled and pinned the way he couldn't do with his own hair and he arranged it on his head and smoothed it out. Bucky came up and put his hand on Steve shoulder saying,

"You look like a doll."

Steve knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but he thought about it literally and realized it was true. The slimness of his features and the paleness of his skin made him look a little like a living doll. He liked it.

Steve stood and Bucky had his hand around his waist as he stepped into a pair of pumps with thick heels. He liked how tall they made him, how easier it was to press a kiss to Bucky's lips. The other laughed lightly, kissing back, and said,

"You keep doing this to me and we'll have those clothes off in no time."

Steve scoffed, but he knew the other was being serious. He could tell by the dark look in Bucky's eyes and the way his hands kept straying to Steve's hips. It almost made Steve think that taking these clothes off was a good idea, but he had spent too much time putting them on to get them ruined. He smiled coyly,

"What kind of girl do you take me for, Barnes?"

Bucky laughed again, but it wasn't demeaning. He kissed Steve again and murmured,

"The type who thinks hands should be above the waist."


They sat together, holding hands, on their ratty old couch in their dingy little flat with the radio crooning near them, but Steve didn't really care at the moment about the negatives, how he would have to wash his face and go back to being masculine in the morning, because he felt like the prettiest person in the world right then.